Fox and Fool
by Chiisai Mu
Summary: When life is determined to bring misery and pain, what might be made of it? What faults might be overlooked, and what measures might be taken, to find happiness after loss? Or is it impossible? KuramaYomi
1. Chapter 1

Fox and Fool

Summary: _When life is determined to bring misery and pain, what might be made of it? What faults might be overlooked, and what measures might be taken, to find happiness after loss? Or is it impossible?_

Warnings:   
1) Shounen ai.  
2) Sexual implications.  
3) Post-sexual nudity.  
4) Alcohol/drug use.  
5) Moderate violence.  
6) Slight lenience with the plot.

Author's Notes: This is a rewritten version of the fic I posted approximately two years ago. I might see fit to post the original somewhere for comparison's sake, but otherwise it remains stored away on my computer. It is by far more detailed and elaborate already, and I've only written the first chapter, so I can hope that everyone enjoys it all the more. On a more discontent note, I'm rewriting the chapters as I find time, so there will be no regular posting schedule. You'll get them as I write them, as most people on this site tend to do (but I always attempted to avoid the habit of). Offhandedly, if anyone is vaguely curious about why I've suddenly reappeared (and you're reading this note any time within the proximity of it having been posted), you can see my bio for details.

Enjoy.

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The afternoon was cool but throbbing, a rhapsodic collection of rural tones and chittering that characterized the wood and brought it to life. The leaves broke the sunlight into shards, sufficiently masking the location of whatever small mammals hid within the undergrowth. Some manner of rodent was hunting this hour, scouring the forest floor for the insects it favored. Some hunters, however, did not rely solely on their sight. The sudden sweep of wings did little more than rustle the foliage before the rodent was whisked away by the talons of some carnivorous avian demon. It was this same cacophony that made existence evident within the demon realm, where death ordinarily held a stringent rein on life.

The late afternoon provided little relief from the violence that enveloped the denizens of the demon plane, the sun offering no deterrent for the worst offenders. Daylight provided no sanctuary to the innocents, only gave them a false reassurance that the night was over and the majority of the killings were finished. The dead were interred or cremated; the wounded bandaged; the fearful set to peace for a few short, misguided hours; the night approached once again.

This was the fox's hunting ground, his territory, his home. A haven it was not, definitely so, but he had never known his home to be safe. It was a rare commodity to know security in this world: built within the great walls of a tower, in which no entry or exit was allowed. That was no life to be lived, no treasure to keep. For all the restraint that allowed on the outside dangers, surely the internal ones would grip the heart and soul of whosoever should choose such an existence. If the hangman's noose proved unavailable, a demon would find more creative means to end himself. There was no such measure that could properly be dubbed "being under aegis" within the demon realm.

Most preferred the dangerous life, chasing what they would prize and hold closest.

By far more often than not, the treasure that would catch the eye of a demon was power, the physical ability and knowledge of having the life of another within his merciless grip; the ending of that life left no end to a demon's delight, and there were forever more lives to be taken and memories of deaths to excite and bemuse the aggressor. The demon realm bore and cultivated minds and bodies specifically for such a purpose. This was the most perfect example of survival of the fittest that the four realms might ever offer, and the vast majority of this world's inhabitants relished the challenge. They never stood a chance to think otherwise; they existed within a world that did not offer to teach compassion, therefore most did not believe in it.

The rare few that survived beyond their time—those that proved more tenacious than most and felled whatever enemies would do the same to them—came to learn that perhaps a more visible form of prize would be more satisfying. Not only were the recollections of murders executed a credible source of pride and pleasure, but a physical trinket left from the action would serve as a reminder, preventing the memory from fading away.

This realization became what started to be the fox's pastime. Acting the demon and slaying whatever lame or pitiful creature that intercepted his path branched into a habit of keeping knickknacks that were either from the scene or had been kept on the victim's person. From this, he had found a hobby of sorts, a release from boredom and monotony. This became his prime reason for interaction with others, his raison d'être, his profession.

It was this motive that had him positioned a few short kilometers from a barricaded village, his keen ears attuned to the forest and his calculating golden eyes directed to the couple dozen demons that would shortly follow him into the tiny town. These creatures, morsels that the fox could easily devour, had found themselves under his tutelage by some chance of fate and divine luck. Any other day—save the one that he'd chosen to take these stragglers under his wing—he would not have hesitated to slaughter to lot of them and take his leave of the sea of blood and pulp that would remain. But to their benefit, the fox had found himself for want of company, and these demons had unwittingly adopted the appearance of needing a teacher.

Pathetic, the entire group, had they been upon first arriving under his instruction, but those that survived in the demon realm beyond the first decade were often quick studies. A few short months had evolved most of them from rudimentary thieves to at least mediocre ones. Those that couldn't keep pace never found the path back to camp.

Approximately half of these thieves were lacking in the necessary resolve and desire that would bring them to true mastery of the fox's trade. They trained their bodies, their minds, and their tastes for treasure, but there was something fundamental to the soul that gave one a nonpareil passion for thievery that took the skill and grace necessary for the act and refined it into art. This was what the fox had discovered in himself, and this was what he found missing from half of his votaries: a disappointing statistic.

Within this large group, however, there was potential for a possible protégé—one whom the fox could take individually under his wing and mold into a true virtuoso—among the decadent miscreants that would go no further than petty pillaging. A savant of the trade could endeavor to be a shadow of the night, a presence hardly noticeable in the dark and capable of delving deep into a fortress stronghold to pluck a precious artifact and escaping without ever arousing attention to himself. This was the true intention of his art, to see without being seen and thereupon take something, and to have that object worth having for the effort spent in obtaining it.

Perhaps one of them would prove a suitable distraction. Never a replacement, there would never be the slightest chance for any of them to build up the respect and admiration that the fox had felt for his former partner, one with whom he had gathered a veritable dragon's hoard. They had been quite a pair, completely synchronous together, each the other's perfect compliment.

The extended silence from the fox was never cut apart with words. The group knew their orders, their missions, but not their purpose. Today, though they went together into the target township, the fox had a different goal in mind than simply to instruct his followers and gain them experience. He would part company with them briefly, leave them to their own devices, and pursue a rumor that had crossed his path the evening previous. This he had never ventured to do; if trouble should arise, those with weak constitutions or poor ability would hardly be capable of sufficient self-defense. A great portion of their numbers would fade from existence.

However, the fox would be disinclined to shed even a single tear. If any of them died, it would be his own fault, his own negligence, and the fox would only take blame for the death in the eyes of those that remained. "Why did you not keep us safe?" they would bid him. "Why have we lost some of our numbers?" And, because he had taken them in and made them his responsibility, he would have to answer to their questions with clever lies about disobedience and ineptitude. It would fall to his shoulders to relieve the tension that would spread through the camp, to take the blame for their deaths and assure those that remained that better precautions would be taken in the future. He would endure their paranoia and their fear, console them with indifference that would say he did not fear more death among them, pretend to care that others had died, and suffer their complaints as he would never have done even a year ago for creatures even twice as useful as the collective. But this was the price he paid to not be alone.

The torrent of demons flooded through the forest, following the path that the fox opened up before them, no one paying attention to the foliage and undergrowth merging together at the tail of the group. The location of their camp hidden in the trees remained a secret to all but their leader, and he kept it very well indeed; not so much as a wild dog had found its way to their encampment.

Grass emerged from the shrubbery and the trees dwindled, leaving a view off a cliff of the village below. The fox normally led them by route of hills and plains, but occasionally a more direct—and often less safe—path was necessary or more convenient. In this case, a less hazardous route would defer them by no less than an hour, and that was unacceptable.

Smoke rose from the smithy, where swords were likely being forged. Jewels and silks were on display in the market. A vendor in front of a fruit stand exchanged a few items for pieces of silver. A brothel girl smiled at passing males from a half-open doorway, her pimp likely lingering just inside to take fees from whatever customer should enter. Two guards were stationed at each entrance, faces stolid and inhospitable. All of this the fox could see from where he stood, which was a testament to just how close one could approach a town without detection if he chose the proper road. Below, at the bottom of the cliff, was another stretch of forest, where he would slink ever closer. With the proper cover, the entire group could come within ten meters of the entrance, so near that a swift approach would enable them to kill the guards before either had time to scream.

Beyond that was where stealth would become unnecessary. Pillaging was not so much an art as a hobby—or, for these demons, a lesson and future profession—and the only necessary furtive action was entering the target town before the guard could warn the inhabitants and block them from potential quarry. Afterwards, it was a matter of grabbing whatever was at hand. This method brought great material gain in a short period of time, but there was little to be won in the sense of pride. How the fox longed for an individual job, something what would rekindle his appreciation for what he did. But none of the demons accompanying him had the experience, and his heart fluttered uncomfortably at the thought of being left alone.

The best entrance was the one immediately before them, as that had the best coverage. A few of the demons behind him stepped forward and gazed at the village as well, exasperating the fox into casting them a glance. He'd long since explained that they needn't yet know the precise reasons for which entrance they took advantage of, nor which target they chose, but there were always those that disobeyed direct orders, regardless of the trade.

The first of the pair was an uncomely creature, long since too far hidden in the shadows and left to sour. His gait was smooth and precise, and his gaze thoughtful but sharp. He was among the half that was in possession of the necessary something that would make an excellent thief. Pity that not all those of grace and dexterity were attractive, although that might have been the point. His eyes were too narrow below his thick brows, and his high cheekbones made his too slender nose seem to continue forever. His lips were thin and his chin square and strong. He lifted a large hand and swept his filthy auburn hair from his eyes. His features didn't meld together well at all. If he had ever cared to bask in the sun for even a few hours, it would certainly have improved his perceived constitution, his complexion, and perhaps even his disposition. He, like most demons, was of strong build, but the fox wasn't certain how he adapted to the pair of wings let go lame from disuse that adorned his back. A single look at him would have told volumes about hindrances and inability. However, that was far from the case; after all, appearance often belies ability. This one was proven to have been an assassin prior to discovering thievery.

His associate was by far more generous to the eyes. Slight of build, but hardly lacking muscle tone, this one had an olive complexion and slender features. On his hands were long, elegant fingers, perfect for the firm grip necessary for handling the sword at his side. His eyes were not narrow, but not so open to convey a false innocence. His lips were smooth and vaguely curved, making the slightly too sharp angle of his jaw a little more subtle. A curtain of black hair flowed gracefully down his back, held away from his smooth forehead by a pair of horns protruding just below his scalp. In many cases, such an addition would take away from a demon's appearance, but it gave him a more austere feel and bore through and demolished the last traces of naïveté that his gentle features might implicate.

Similarly to his accomplice, the attractive one held that nameless quality that would make him a remarkable thief, however he possessed it to a much smaller degree. His would need to be cultivated carefully, else it would be whittled away by impatience or disinterest. That would be a worthy challenge, a distraction from himself, his loneliness, his loss.

That would need to be set aside for now, though. He had more pressing issues at hand, including this theft and instructing the reprobate exactly when it was or was not appropriate to lead himself in an excursion. If he had wished to learn himself how best to go about things, he would not have allowed himself to be brought into the fox's fold. And such audacity did not please their leader in the least.

With a swift glance over the township, the fox assessed the possible and likely threat that the inhabitants might offer. The ostentatiously high walls and multiple guards at each entrance denoted that the people therein were not particularly tenacious, although it was a trading town, which offered shelter and convenience for those willing to pass along a little gold. This presented the possibility that a demon of significant strength might have settled for the evening within. The fox considered this for a moment, judging the risk involved if such a thing did happen to be. Weighed against the rumor he'd heard of the treasure within the state house, this threat seemed minimal enough.

Leaping suddenly from the precipice, the fox plummeted toward the ground, catching his heels against the narrow protruding ledges offered down the face of the bluff to slow his descent. Even a demon would die from dropping from such a height, but these tiny catches against the rock arrested his speed enough that landing on his feet would not immediately shatter the bones in his legs. His landing was admittedly an unsteady one that left his ankles mildly sore, but the encumbrance was hardly worth a thought. There were those in the group that would be much worse for wear after this, and they would be left behind, never to find the camp in their attempts to return. A thief that couldn't go through with the act—either due to physical inability or an attack of conscience—might as well have died in the process.

Two died from the drop, having not given enough attention to how quick their fall had been. Beneficial, though, was how silently they had succumbed to death. A scream would have aroused the attention of the guards and ruined the theft for the rest of the party. Either the pair had been too dim to understand that death had come for them, or they'd had the sense to understand that the fox would have sought them out in the afterlife and tormented them for eternity for proving to be cowards.

The forest before them was similar to the forest they had just left behind, but here they need be more cautious, taking great pains to avoid causing a single sound that would catch the ears of the guards. Where they had been swift and sure above, the fox instructed the group to keep their eyes on the ground in case a branch or an animal might fall under his heels. A few took to the trees, not trusting their feet on the earth, and as long as they made not a sound, the fox did not oppose. After all, if thievery was an art, each would need to develop his own personal style. He himself preferred the earth. No matter that plants were his expertise as much as theft, the earth gave life to his abilities. Perhaps he was being superstitious, but he would rather be closer to that would gave life than that which took advantage of it—as he himself was prone to do.

As large as the group was, they managed to approach the gates with perfect silence. The fox gave a sly grin and motioned for the others to remain behind for this particular obstacle. He'd yet to assess the speed of each individual, and being unsure of who might prove too languid, the fox chose to do this on his own. He withdrew a rose bud from his silver locks—only subconsciously aware that they caught the shattered light piercing the foliage—and flitted forward. The first of the guards did not notice his approach before the flick of his wrist transformed the rose into a whip, only becoming aware as his trunk was severed in two. Rather than a scream, a gurgle of blood spilled from his lips.

However, the splatter and scent of blood aroused the second. He pivoted with enough time to gaze upon the figure of his murderer: merciless golden eyes, silken silver locks, lean of build, with long, slender fingers, a strong mouth, and ears and tail befitting of an animal. 'So, the rumors are true,' the guard thought to himself, knowing that he had no chance of raising his weapon in time. 'Death is beautiful when gazed closely upon.' His blood painted the ground half a second later, and the fox gave a signal for the rest to approach. The time for concealment had ended; the time for haphazard pillaging had begun.

It took less than five seconds for the first shout of horror to ring through the air, accented by a crash of merchandise not coveted littering the ground. Jewelry and expensive fabrics were prime targets, as they could be sold to another town for a good deal of gold, then stolen back in a few months and resold to a third, unsuspecting village. One third of the thieves were assigned to take as much of these items as possibly found. The second most significant quarry was food and drink, although the fox often found himself exasperated that none of these idiots seemed to understand the difference between water and alcohol, so often he found himself submerged in an encampment filled to bursting with inebriated demons. A second third was assigned to this task. The final element to a successful heist was to take whatever suited the thief's fancy. More often than not, this fancy was expressed through unbridled lust, and the prime object of the final portion of the group's eyes were women. The fox had not intended for something so base to drive a thief that had that certain something inside that made him worth individual assignments, but he soon recalled that, for many within the demon realm, there was no underestimation, regardless of how low his opinion happened to be. These groups were rotated once a week, allowing for each individual to experience the roles necessary to profit, survival, and occupational gratification respectively.

Civilians scattered and screamed about them, felled by a sword or fleeing into a building and securing the door. An orphaned child wept over his mother's corpse, left alone under the fox's orders. Children were not to be harmed: they would potentially grow to be targets that could provide quarry. A prostitute that would not be taken lost her head to a glaive. A man was deprived of his limbs for attempting to hide his wares, then left to bleed to death. The remaining guard approached to dispel the assault, but just as the rest, they stood no chance against a hoard of avaricious demons; their high walls were proven to be an empty threat.

The fox's followers were ruthless in their efforts, focused on profit before pity. They offered the perfect distraction for the fox, who slinked carefully into the state building, where the rumor drew him irrevocably.

One of the demons, assigned to take whatever caught his eye and nothing else, caught sight of the fox deviating from the plan. He would justify his actions later as an experiment in taking advantage of another efforts, which had earned him significant acclaim while he had been training as an assassin. Certainly the fox would reward his efforts, similarly as his previous master had. No other demon took notice of his pursuit of their master.

The inner walls of the building were stone, similar to the outside, but these had various cracks and crevices that were absent on their other half. The fox gave a weary frown to this, by far too skilled to fall victim to traps such as these. Perhaps the amateurs outside would, but he knew by far more about their trade. He removed a seed from his silver locks and pressed it against the wall, where it dug through the stone and earth, thriving under the energy given it by its master, and curled strenuous vines around the arrows that would have otherwise shot from the walls without the proper disarming maneuver. The fox tested the effectiveness of these measures by taking a single step forward, confident in his seed's ability. The stone shifted under his weight, but no attack came from panels in the walls.

He strode casually at first, then rolled his eyes at the thought of having to return to find his thieves had gotten bored with his leisure and left without him. If the fools happened to get lost in that time, he would be frustrated to need to rescue them from a forest they were dangerously unfamiliar with. Every expedition through the wood had been under the fox's lead, at the mercy of his ability to shift plant life from their path. If a carnivorous plant happened to catch their scent, and the fools should step in the wrong area, the fox would have need to find new disciples. Although their insolence and ineptitude caused him great strains, he was fretfully afraid of being alone.

The remainder of his path, twisting and turning in a desperate bid to find his treasure before his thieves grew wary of his absence, was fairly uneventful. A guard here or there would be on his way out to assist those that had already died, and subsequently fell as well. He left a trail of corpses in his wake, blood clinging to his rose leaving a gentle stain on its petals that would serve to give it more vibrancy. Cut off from a source of water, this was the best nutrition he could offer the bud without consciously feeding it energy. It was a very content plant to be killing so many, yet so innocent in that it didn't understand that its life resulted in death; damned without knowledge of its sins, such a despicable, woebegone existence.

Following at a distance, as his training had made second nature, the assassin crept behind his new master, admiring the skill with which he slaughtered so many without a drop of blood falling on his person. The fox would have done well as an assassin, although that might be due to his great skill in thievery. It was these similarities that had drawn him away from paid murder and to theft; the killing of demons not worth his effort had grown pitifully dull, but to kill for the killing _and_ to get a reward, that had been certain to be more entertaining. And it had proven to be, but the transition between lessons was a progressive one, with which he had little patience. In trailing the fox, he was hoping to be excelled within the program and given more difficult assignments. That would rekindle his already failing passion with this.

The first window to be seen within the building—quite possibly the only one facing this compass direction—gave the fox a brief glimpse to check on his followers, all of whom he saw were distracted with their chores. He nodded to himself more than to their progress, and continued on.

Immediately behind him, the assassin ignored those that he thought below him, unable to grow as a thief with the speed that he had. Perhaps the fox would order them to leave for an amount of time to train him individually. He grinned with ambition, imagining all of the things that would soon be his.

The long hallway finally came to its end, opening into an impossibly small chamber incapable of even storing a bed. The room bore no windows, no lanterns, no designs or crevices through which traps might be hidden. This room was exclusively for the single pillar situated in the very center of the room, on which was a jewel that shone with such brilliance that at first the fox thought a piece of the moon had been stolen from the sky, stained emerald, and set into a necklace of platinum. This pendant was the twin of the one his lost partner had died for, with the exception that its stone was not the enchanting sanguinary crimson. The rumor had been true, he understood with an satisfied grin. His slender fingers trapped the jewel and lifted it reverently from the pedestal, taking its weight from the stone and testing it on his palm.

This action was cut short as the walls and floor began thrumming discordantly, while a fine dust descended from the ceiling. The fox immediately understood the nature of this particular trap, and dashed hastily from the room. When he nearly drove a demon from his feet, the fox first thought it was another guard, but it proved to be one of the pair of demons that had so boldly stepped forward prior to dropping from the cliff. In a minor fit of anger, the fox hollered, "You fool, run if you value your life!" and swung around the dumbstruck demon. The ceiling collapsed from above him before his wits returned enough for a reaction, leaving him a pathetic blood stain buried in stone. It persisted in following closely after the fox and was gaining distance rapidly. He gritted his teeth against the soreness that was now especially prominent in his ankles and knees, forcing his legs to move when his joints wanted desperately to rest.

At long last, as the dust was beginning to sift through his hair and catch in his lungs, the window he'd seen before came into view and he leapt straight out of it, avoiding the collapse of the hallway and plummeting to the street below. His landing on a tarp above a vegetable stand was about as graceful as the tread of a newborn colt, but it softened the impact with the ground significantly and allowed him to stand without considerable effort. He checked his grasp, found the pendant still clutched within, admired it for a brief second, then gave a shrill whistle from between his teeth. This was his signal to the others that they should gather at the gates to leave. He sped there himself, folding into the group of thieves that were prepared to abscond at a moment's notice, and shot to the front to lead their escape.

The pendant and its chain were both gathered protectively in the fox's palm, hidden from the eyes of his followers and at no risk of scrutiny or greed. It would remain in his custody until he saw fit to part with it. This was his last chance at reminiscence, to have a memory not strangled hopelessly by bamboo shoots and blood, to recall again what it was like to hear and see and know the fallen Kuronue.

----

Better than the original, no?

Much of my use of language has been inspired by Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë. But I've tried not to sound too classic and, hopefully, not so much as to make it too ostentatious and verbose. If nothing else, I'd like a note on that.

Glad to be back.

6:30 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Friday, 08 February 2008.

Tschüss!

Ari.  
_Chiisai Mu._


	2. Chapter 2

All warnings, multi-chapter relevant author's notes, etc. are in the first chapter.

o.o I never noticed how much irony there was in this fic until Eng 102. I will have to remember to burn something in my English teacher's honor. . Maybe that stuffed animal I got from a stalker...

Kudos to these people: Campanile, KiraiAnca, and nanshisummer.

I think I lightened up on the verbose wordplay. Enjoy.

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The dusk had long since grown old and tired, but while most of the demons were spending their evening in carefree delight of the triumph of a more or less successful heist, there was a small group of demons harassing the fox about the single death amongst their numbers that had taken place in the afternoon. They were crowded into his tent, an area masked from the elements by a simple tarp tied 'twixt two trees and staked into the ground at the corners. A length of cloth had been left loose to serve as the door to the tent, but behind the fox the lengths had been secured together, creating a wall similar to those to the left and right. It was unlikely that there would be a creature in the area able to sneak in on him, but he would rather decrease the risks of it happening, no matter how infinitesimal the odds. He knew very well that he wasn't immune to deceit or trickery, as the demon that had followed him certainly hadn't done so for the learning experience.

The surrounding clearing was one the fox had arranged, shifting the plant life a few feet away in every direction from the center, where the fire pit had been dug, and then creating little niches in the perimeter for tents to be tucked into. There was no certain exit or entrance to their hideaway when the fox didn't produce one, but none of the demons considered this a particular danger or disadvantage. The idea that the fox might betray and kill them all had crossed every mind on more than one occasion, but each assumed he would hear the others dying and would have time to flee. Only a select few had the brush with true intellect that told them that the entire group was surrounded by the fox's element and, if one would die at any particular moment, the rest would fall simultaneously.

A demon stepped boldly forward, held a fist out as if to brandish it, hesitated, withdrew the fist, and insisted, "He died before you, why did you do nothing to assist him?" The rest rumbled softly in agreement, shifting glances between each other and the fox sitting in front of them. Their leader was the only one sitting down, completely at ease, regardless of by how many men he was outnumbered. The tiny plant sitting in a terra cotta pot in front of him resonated a yellow light from its stamen, illuminating the tent and bringing light to the eyes of the demons around it. The rough, uneven ground stole the radiance from the very corners of the tent, but the most dramatic shadows were those thrown over the demon leaning against the tree that the tarp had been tied to for support outside the tent. His arms were folded across his chest and a vague smirk resided on his lips. This did not escape the fox's perception, but it did not seem particularly significant. There were demons that wound up at the scene of some incident or another just to absorb the drama involved, enjoying the energy coursing through the air; then, there were those that simply enjoyed the adverse feelings—anger, frustration, sorrow, impatience, confusion—and thrived on that. Whichever this demon happened to be, it was hardly the fox's concern what he derived pleasure from.

"It is not my place to ignore nature's laws," the fox replied simply. He coddled the plant in front of him, a bad habit left over from before his partner had...expired. He wanted to chew on his bottom lip for phrasing it in such a way, but if he thought of Kuronue as a dead person, rather than a passed time, depression would grip his chest and he would find himself unable to speak to his followers. Weakness in the demon realm resulted in death and, even worse, abandonment. The fox didn't think he could handle being alone while he was still coming to grips with his internal struggle. So, until he'd found ground around the ocean of agonized sorrow that he was learning to swim through, he would think of Kuronue as a concept rather than a person. "If one can overcome nature's call to the next life, I would help him in every endeavor. If this proves impossible, there isn't much I can do, is there?"

At this point, the fox's eyes met those in the group around him, focusing on each pair in turn and addressing each demon in this question, one he knew none of them would have a choice in: there was only one option available to one that didn't want to find himself lost in the forest one afternoon after a heist. "Would any of you be so weak that you couldn't help yourself if the necessity arose?" The fox wasn't the only one that would be abandoned for weakness. And each of them knew he wasn't immune to it. The fox had no particular attachment to any of them, this was known throughout the camp. He had made that fact quite clear in the very beginning, and duly reminded them at random intervals.

"He was weak and a fool," the fox continued, having not been interrupted in the moment of silence he'd left after his rhetorical question. His eyes returned to the plant before him, stroking a violet petal lovingly. "The only help there is for fools is from the gods, and I have never professed myself to be among their numbers."

"So, after all you've told us, you'd leave us to die if something happened?" a demon remarked disdainfully, misinterpreting what had been said. "If we were ill, you'd help. But if an emergency arose and there was little time, you'd flee and save yourself?"

The first word that had been spoken betrayed to the fox that this was a rebuttal; the tone alone had spoken volumes of dissatisfaction and impudence. It wasn't that the fox didn't allow for varied opinions, but he was strictly opposed to others putting words into his mouth and misinterpreting what he said without reason to think his true meaning was veiled. If there had been a chance to save the demon's life without compromising his own, he would have assisted in any way. But he would not die for the sake of a demon that would have simply died with him. That would have been a waste and a shame.

Like Kuronue's death. He would have died a wasted death like Kuronue, been ranked with him in the afterlife and never had to leave his side. He wouldn't have been alone anymore.

Part of him wished he'd come to this conclusion while the opportunity had been presented before him, but it hadn't crossed his mind to die in that castle. He wasn't of a suicidal mindset; suicide was cowardice, and he would not be remembered as a coward. His need to be with Kuronue couldn't be tainted with the shame of having taken his own life to do it. Even an honorable hara-kiri¹ would have seemed pathetic and desperate.

These thoughts distracted the fox from the seed that suddenly ruptured beneath the ground, throwing vines and branches bursting from the earth to encase the demon that had challenged his word. His golden eyes shifted upward as a cloud of dust wafted in his direction, alerting him to the action he'd set into motion upon the first word of this demon's rebuttal. He'd nearly forgotten about the seed in that short time. He blinked once as the branches lifted the demon from his feet and suspended him in the air, tightening their lethal grip around the insolent whelp.

Scratching lightly at the back of his neck and sweeping hair behind his shoulder, the fox ignored the horrified stares he was receiving for this action, but he took particular notice that a solitary figure that had been leaning against the tree in the back had parted from his support and had his right hand extended halfway toward the sword strapped to his waist. He waved a languid hand toward the crowd and the captured demon heaved a breath of air into his lungs, able to breathe with the lax in the vines.

"Might I remind you who is in charge here?" the fox asked, his voice dripping acid. His eyes didn't hold the same ferocity, so he kept them directed to his plant. His heart wasn't in his threats this evening, but clever consideration of his words and a dark tone would be more than sufficient to fool most of the demons he had surrounded himself with. "Yes, I could do nothing for him. If I can do nothing, I will not attempt. That would be a waste of time and life. If there had been anything more than to yell at him to flee, I would have done whatever was necessary. But I will not die in a futile attempt to save another. I have no reason to do so. Your lives are in your own hands. If you disagree with my methods, you are free to leave at any time." Another timely reminder that he didn't care about any of them. He'd been overdue for one, he was certain. He was lax in several unnecessary, but highly recommended matters. His heart was in heists in general as much as it was in threats this evening.

He was bored.

Snapping his fingers unnecessarily, the fox released the demon from his plant's deadly grasp, listened to the thud he made against the ground, and gave a wry frown to the plant he coddled. If he'd been in a better mood, he would have smirked at the disgraced demon, but instead he simply sighed his frustration. "You all exasperate me. Your lives are not in my hands. I am not here to ensure you live healthy, productive lives. I am here to teach you matters which you would otherwise continue to learn the wrong methods for. And I will most certainly not tolerate one paranoid idiot to taint the entire group with a fallacy about how I condemned a demon that couldn't protect himself." For this point, his heart found its way into his mind's belief. His eyes lifted to the demon clutching his throat in front of him, narrowed with malice and dark from indiscriminate ire. "Continue to accuse me of killing a member of this group, convince one more person that I allowed him to die without sufficient reason, and you will find your fate to be similarly unfortunate. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

The demon nodded slowly at first, then with more vigor. He stood, bowed hastily, then pushed through the crowd standing behind him to escape the tent. The muffled sounds of him fleeing into the forest echoed in all ears. The fox had serious doubts that he would return. The rest had a little more common sense, or at the very least intended to stay until they found themselves to be the central target of the fox's wrath. When the first of them bowed to excuse himself, the rest followed suit. But no one moved to exit, all aware that no one was dismissed until the fox gave him leave.

The swordsman in the back was leaning against the tree again, now more visible with the rest bowing before the fox. His arms were folded across his chest, his biceps slightly concealed by his curtain of black hair. He looked familiar. Was this the other bold one that had dared inspect the target with the fox? He had the same sharp features and slim build. He blinked at the demon once, came to realize that the anger had left his eyes and was replaced either by boredom or full-fledged lethargy, and nonchalantly shifted his eyes back to his plant. "I'm weary of you all," the fox spoke softly, the indication that they should all leave.

With his forefinger and thumb, the fox rubbed at his eyes, coming to understand just how tired he felt this night. The events of the day played no part in his exhaustion, and even if they had, the percentage would be infinitesimal. Emotional and mental distress had been draining his energy whenever it was given the opportunity, and this afternoon had been horrible because of it. The pendant, obtaining it and subsequently wearing it, only served as a stronger reminder of Kuronue than his own dilapidating sorrow. He opened his eyes, intending to remove it and cast it away, but the fox found he wasn't yet alone.

The swordsman had detached himself from the tree, but hadn't moved otherwise. This was likely why the fox hadn't noticed him, and his static form had escaped the other's fine-tuned awareness. He gave a disconsolate frown, too tired to contend with a demon that either wouldn't follow orders or didn't have the sense to understand them when they weren't in literal context, and ordered him, "Get out."

"If I may, sir, I would like to state an opinion you might be interested in knowing."

Long since too intolerant of disobedience to consider paying attention to this pathetic grasp for attention, the fox replied mordantly, "My, I seem to have a follower who is either deaf or witless. Perhaps both." He placed more emphasis on the last statement, his intention entirely and honestly to prod the demon's ego with a sharp claw, instigate him, coerce him to give the fox a reason to expel him forcefully. Possibly in several pieces.

The swordsman continued as if the fox hadn't just insulted him, a wise move for someone that was being defiant in the face of a leader that obviously wasn't in the best of moods. "He wished you dead." The fox arched an eyebrow, half interested, but hesitant to trust this demon at his word. There were things he did that gave him away, the way his eyes appeared and the way his lips twinged. He didn't reply, allowing this demon to continue if he had more information. "His original intention was to prove himself better, stronger, to disgrace you and throw you from your seat of power. He wanted control of the group. But this situation provided a different opportunity. I'm certain he wished for you to help him and die as a result. He was an opportunistic creature. He deserved what happened to him. Fate seems to have plans for you, sir."

The fox almost laughed at that, but he swiftly strangled the urge and glared instead. "How would he have assumed that I would sacrifice myself for him? I gave no indication to give him cause to believe this." He would have snarled from his growing aggravation if it wouldn't have been unbecoming. Instead, he gave a soft snort. "How foolish. Not only of him, but of you. Why pretend to concern yourself with me?"

This comment seemed to take him aback for a second, but he composed himself after a second or two of thought. "Anyone in the camp would tell you that he was spreading rumors about you, sir," he stated, his voice soft, as if he didn't want to be overheard. "Rumors about you having allowed a partner in theft to die." The fox succumbed to his previous urge to bite down on the inside of his lip, but he did so discreetly. He doubted the other saw this action, but regardless he released his lip quickly. "He assured everyone that he was feigning his weaknesses, and that you were feigning all of your strength. He preached that you couldn't kill us all, and you could hardly kill even one of us. He insisted that you could not protect us; this is why they are uneasy. At the first possible moment, he would have betrayed you."

The fox observed the other for a long moment. His breathing was slightly elevated, the blood throbbing through his carotid pulsating rapidly, his fists clenched around the perspiration that was beginning to bead on his palms, his eyes wavering almost imperceptibly between the fox's eyes and forehead. All of these signs were invisible to most, but the fox had memorized and studied the various symptoms of a liar. There was no fooling him while these signs were still present, and only a skillful few were able to mask them all, on top of the ones that this demon had managed—intentionally or otherwise—to suppress.

"And you go by what name?" There were many demons that refused the names that parents or guardians had bestowed upon them. It was better to ask which name they best responded to, in order to avoid any confusion or discontent.

"Yomi," he responded with a grin. The fox resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the demon's confidence.

"Well, Yomi," he began, his tone evincing that the conversation was nearly at its end. The grin on Yomi's face hastily disappeared. "You are certainly a good liar, although I've seen those leagues above you in that particular ability." His face didn't betray what he was feeling at this revelation, but his eyes told volumes of surprise and agitation. "But you cannot gain my trust through whatever lies you might tell about people that cannot defend themselves. You can, although you are far from it at this point, earn my reciprocated trust through your own trust and devotion. Now, leave my presence. I will not tell you again, and refusing my order this time will become detrimental to your health."

A fly buzzed quietly through the tent and swirled confused through the air until it reached the plant sitting in front of the fox. The plant's petals closed around the insect and began devouring it, cutting the fox and Yomi off from their light source for the short moment that it took for the insect to dissolve. The swordsman was hesitating, finally shamed and insulted, but he gritted his teeth, begrudgingly bowed to the fox and exited the tent. The malignant thoughts coursing through his mind were almost audible, as potently as his contempt wafted through the air.

It was only after Yomi had departed that the fox noticed the noises emanating from the clearing his tent was inconveniently located beside. He'd debated for a short while when he'd established this group whether or not he should remove himself from the whole, and had inevitably decided it would be better if he didn't. Now he was regretting this decision. The ruckus of the drunken demons loitering outside was becoming oppressive, filled to bursting with laughter that the fox couldn't quite comprehend. He didn't understand happiness, he didn't understand content. All he knew was distractions and mourning. And, reminded of Kuronue by so many small things, he couldn't find himself able to be distracted with their intoxicated festivities.

The sudden, muffled crumble of firewood snapping and resettling was interrupted by the shriek of the demon that had fallen in the campfire. His inflamed form bore through the shadows by casting light on the fox's tent, highlighting his shape running frantically around the clearing before he dropped to the ground and began rolling around to extinguish the fire. He wouldn't drink again this night, already sobered from pain and reluctant to tempt fate a second time in a single evening. And his humiliation at being laughed at by the demons still under alcohol's veil was no consolation. Once bitten, twice shy. But not shy enough. He would only dabble with drink for a few weeks, before immersing himself completely. No one would learn from his experience.

In niches of flattened grass close enough to the clearing to see the campfire and find one's way back, a handful of demons enjoyed the company of the women stolen from the township. The females shrieked when they could, causing a ruckus even more grating on the fox's nerves than the demons he had to endure every day. They would be killed after they proved to be of no further use. The fox could have ordered one be saved for his personal use, but he'd only done so thrice in the months that he'd been tutoring these thieves. He would treat these females well, if they cooperated, and release them after a few days, but only one had actually done so; the other two had met their ends at the mercy of a rose.

As the fox contended with his own headache, Yomi nursed a dull pain that was growing in his forebrain. He dropped to the ground in his tent, which he had previously shared with a demon that had proven just as treacherous as himself. If the idiot hadn't taken his own initiative and followed the fox without telling Yomi, he might be alive now. Instead, he'd taken it upon himself to further his own image to the fox and leave an ally to wallow amongst thieves that would advance no farther than the drunken enjoyment they were drowning in. His fists clenched in aggravation, but he made no action to alleviate his anger. He knew the value of lying in wait, and he knew that losing his temper now would achieve him nothing.

But he hadn't anticipated that the rumors of the fox would prove true. It was more than obvious that the fox was an excellent thief, it was undeniable. Those rumors he had acknowledged long ago. The tales of a prudent, observant, wise fox thief were the ones that he had hoped were false or, at the very least, an exaggeration.

Closing his eyes slowly and heaving a long sigh, Yomi focused on the positives. He hadn't been banned from the camp, nor had he been renounced. He was definitely a long way from earning the fox's trust and gaining the reputation he craved, but it wasn't impossible. Eventually, he could find a weakness or the fox might falter, and he could take his place. Either through building himself up to the fox's level or through becoming renown as the man that killed the fox thief, Yomi would obtain a status that others would be hard-pressed to match, and the authority it demanded. He would be known throughout the demon realm, just like the fox thief.

Eyes slipping back open, Yomi took in the silhouettes of demons dancing to their own mental music, singing limericks and stealing bottles from one another until someone decided it needed to stop and beat someone else over the head with an empty bottle he had the misfortune of taking. Howls of laughter rang through the air as a woman shrieked in the proximity. The fire flickered in and out of sight as drunken demons circled it. _This_ is what Yomi had brought himself into to gain his reputation? Mingling with apparitions that were better suited to the grave than to thievery? The shrubbery beside Yomi's tent rustled as a pair left the circle to entertain themselves with each other, and Yomi grimaced to think he might end up overhearing their sport.

A few meters away, the fox was wondering a similar question aloud. "_This_ is what I receive? _This_ is what I gain for forfeiting my time and patience to avoid being alone?" It made him even more exhausted. He longed for sleep, a reprieve from knowing that he was inevitably alone, no matter the dozens of apparitions surrounding him. Inevitably, none could provide him with the sense of companionship that would drive away his loneliness. Sleep was his only escape.

A gentle stroke with a single finger closed the petals of his glowing flower, but it didn't dampen the light bleeding through the tarp between him and the fire. He eased to the ground, placed one arm below his head as a makeshift pillow and covered his eyes with the other. That did nothing for the oppressive sounds assaulting his ears. He removed his pillow and covered his ears instead, but his keen aural senses found the individual peels of laughter and crackles from the fire. He would never distract himself enough to even chase sleep, much less capture it.

Rising defeated from the ground, the fox padded to the entrance of his tent, intending to put an end to all of the roughhousing. Before he managed to get to the other side of his dwelling, the swift sound of a sword slicing through the air resonated in the fox's ears. He emerged from his tent in time to watch the body hit the earth, then flicked his eyes upward to see Yomi holding the sword that had downed the demon. In the next instant two things happened: first, all mouths stopped moving and sound ceased to emerge from therein; second, all eyes shifted to the apparition murderer in front of them. No one took notice that the fox had emerged from his tent, with the sole exception of Yomi, who revelled at having the attention of the fox's group in his very presence. The fox narrowed his eyes at the satisfaction gleaming in the other's.

A muffled outcry from a woman nearby ruptured the silence, nudging Yomi to speak. "Cap your bottles, suffocate that fire, and go to sleep!" he ordered, taking the fox's right from him. "This is no time to be up celebrating. You all act as if there's nothing to do tomorrow." Before the fox could reprimand him for taking charge, he vanished into his tent with his blade still dripping blood. He smirked to himself, wondering if maybe there was some weakness to the fox, one that had held his tongue for him.

After Yomi had disappeared, a demon got up his nerve, assisted by the alcohol mingling in his veins, and hollered, "What right have you to give us orders?"

"Strange," the fox spoke, calling the attentions of all despite his low volume. Inside his tent, Yomi stiffened, automatically giving his ears to the fox, then growled softly to himself for submitting. He couldn't have demanded the attention of the others with such a gentle voice, especially without having slain that demon beforehand. He turned around, but refused to give the fox the satisfaction of seeing him emerge from his tent for his sake.

"Strange how you claim this after his weapon has been sheathed." Yomi gripped the hilt of his sword and gritted his teeth. So his sword was of no threat once he wasn't within view? Had his retreat implied cowardice rather than intrepidity? He cursed silently. He sat down and began cleaning his blade on the sash of his late partner's alternate robe. The fox's words resounded in his ears, kindling his anger. "I would suggest you follow his advice. Someone retrieve the ones in the surrounding area." One or two rushed off to follow this order, anxious to get away from his deceptively calm demeanor; there was something about the fox's tranquility that set off the fight or flight instinct. "As for the rest of you, save your celebrations for a night more deserving. Today's endeavors were worth little praise, and your mirth is disgraceful." The degradation left the whole of the group discouraged, and Yomi briefly wondered if everyone else was questioning the point in being here if the fox would invite them to nothing but useless heists. This thought was abolished when the speech was concluded with, "You shall know genuine triumph in coming months. Have no doubt about that."

With that, the fox returned to his tent, relieved as the demons in the clearing prepared for sleep, and eventually the only sounds to be heard were those of deep, heavy breathing and the crickets searching for their mates.

With this silence, the fox examined the pendant he had stolen earlier in the day. It glistened and shone, reflected his visage, felt the same as Kuronue's had. But what it held was cool and solitary solemnity, nothing like the fiery passion that Kuronue's pendant had instilled in him. This pendant only made him feel more lonely and removed than he had before.

Closing his eyes and snapping the chain as he ripped the pendant from around his neck, the fox reached through the braided twine that closed the back of his tent and tossed the pendant out. It landed amongst the bushes surrounding the clearing, where it would remain until the fox, the carnivorous plants now surrounding their camp, and his group uprooted themselves and moved, and perhaps even longer, depending on when a demon wandered through this area and discovered it. It would never again be as cared for as it had while in the protection of the township it had been stolen from, as abandoned and desolate as the fox now felt.

Perhaps it was time for some desperate measures.

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¹ Hara-kiri, also known as seppuku, is a form of suicide done to preserve one's honor. Suicide is dishonorable, but so is being captured by the enemy, so samurai would commit the horribly painful hara-kiri to show they were brave enough to endure an agonizing death to avoid falling into the enemy's hands. If you want to know more, look up either term in an encyclopedia.

---

I haven't been reading anything, so this shouldn't have been quite as classically influenced as the first chapter.

Hope you liked it.

12:00 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Saturday, 12 March 2008.  
(Going to bed soon, after I swallow more pills to make my cold go away.)

Auf Wiedersehen.

Isa.  
_Chiisai Mu._


	3. Chapter 3

I know it's taking me a long time to update. No need to remind me. Thanks a bunch.

Thanks to Lanie for the review.

* * *

The weather was humid, typical summer weather for this region of the demon realm, but in the early morning hours, it made the atmosphere colder than anything else. Dew gathered on the grasses that would soon be crushed beneath feet, leaves shone with the first light of the sun, animals huddled in their dens until the nip disappeared from the air before leaving for the hunt. The motley group of demon thieves slumbered in their tents, oblivious to the dawn and all its subtleties. Most of all the fox, who fitfully relived a moment most recent in his life: half an instant that changed his very existence and left him with the hollowness that now seemed to dominate his life.

_Forget—_

The word seemed a whisper compared to the actual sound that had been made at the time, but it resounded through the fox's brain ever louder, reverberating and growing more clear each time it was repeated.

Other demons breathed deeply, the last remnants of the previous night's alcohol absorbing into various organs and filtering from the blood. One or two would have a mild hangover, but nothing so serious as to stay him from going on a heist. The fox had no such impeding substance in his system, but he might still be influenced to remain at camp. What coursed through his blood, his very life, was tainted by sorrow and by mourning and, somewhere inside, by anger at himself and at the universe for having allowed Kuronue to die.

_Forget about me—_

The whisper had elevated significantly by this time, clouding his ears and making the world around him a quiet din. Whereas he would normally pick out certain sounds in his sleep and dream about what could possibly be the source, the fox could no better discern an outside noise than he could predict the future.

Fingernails bit malevolently into the dirt, gouging crescents into the earth below him. Sweat dripped from his forehead, cold and slippery, and darkened the ground. The small spots stood out only to a careful eye, but a keen nose would notice the salt just as easily. He grumbled in his sleep, breathing heavily from stress and gasping for air when his exhalations became more than his steady inhalation could account for. His head tucked itself under an arm, folding his right ear back against his head.

—_Kurama!_

This exclamation shattered against his mental eardrums as a scream from a substantial distance, too loud for ordinary conversation, but not enough to evoke a sharp response. Somewhere inside, his instincts knew that the next shout would be against his ear, and he tensed from the anticipation.

The first tear streamed down his face upon this clip of memory. To think of all the times that Kuronue had said his name for other reasons: warning him of danger; talking to him casually; boasting about a successful theft to a third party; whispers at night; waking him up in the morning and accusing him of laziness; the one time the fox had caught him muttering it in his sleep. At the time, these things had either seemed typical, insignificant, or even as an irritant. Now, they were precious memories that were tainted by his final proclamation of the fox's name: one that had ordered him to leave him behind, one that had broken his heart into spiny shards that tore apart his innards and left him bleeding internally in ways that might never heal.

_Forget about me and run, Kurama!_

The scream woke the fox immediately, sending him flying forward with the exclamation, "Kuronue!" His breaths heaved in and out of his lungs for a few moments, the dream sitting in his mind for a time as vivid as the occurrence had been. His fingers ground against the dirt below him, while tears streaked across his cheeks. He grit his teeth together until his jaw ached, willing his tear ducts to evaporate and cease function entirely. How weak would he appear before his followers if he permitted himself to weep in his slumber? The excuse of being unawares was no excuse at all, and he couldn't bear to be abandoned.

Flipping his ear back to its upright position, the fox got to his feet, biting down hard on his lower lip, and stepped from his tent into the somnolent morning. He padded quickly into the surrounding forest, getting away from potential early risers and their wandering eyes. There was a stream nearby, one with cool, swift waters, that he had scouted in the beginning and decided was an asset. Not only would it provide a means of quickly disposing of bodies that happened to turn up in their territory—bodies which would attract animals and, subsequently, hunters—but it was also a source of water and, when necessary, a bath.

The path was dark with the cover of foliage, so the reduction of the ability of his eyes enhanced the sharpness of auditory stimuli. The fox could nearly catch the sound of an insect crawling on the leaves around him, but he had no interest in such noises, so they swept by with his paying them any mind. Rather, the animals were what he gave his attention to. Any one of them could be a demon that would catch the drying tears on his face and proceed to expose him to his followers. Any such sentient creature would have to be exterminated. He would give them no chance for redemption or promises, similarly to how death had offered him no deals to save Kuronue. He couldn't afford the mercy.

The trees began to break as the bank came up on the fox, bringing with it the sound of flowing water. Groups of rocks placed within the water by nature or demon proved to be beneficial to him; they always seemed to sit a certain distance apart from each other, so the fox could follow the river and count how far he'd gone by keeping track of the rocks he'd passed. It was more likely that a demon had done this years before, after settling the area, but no proof could be found. He had never heard of a successful town or even a village in this forest, with the minor exception of informal groups that stayed in the area for a time, then moved on, but there was no need for such a measuring system with a short-term residence. There were rumors that the woods were cursed. The fox had never been superstitious, but there were a few of his followers that drank themselves stupid to escape the paranoid delusions they had of the trees hanging above them.

The clean scent of the water filled the fox's nostrils, soothing his nerves a little and causing his heart to slow its anxious palpitations. His pulse was vaguely throbbing in his ears, but he had been so intent on finding and destroying any beings that might expose him that he hadn't noticed. Kneeling down and splashing water on his face alleviated the apprehension prickling his mind, but his ears hadn't yet resigned from their post. The rustle of leaves caused them to twitch, but the fox made no motion otherwise to signal that he'd heard anything. He finished washing his face first, then proceeded to rub excess water from his eyes and whip the droplets from his fingers back into the stream.

Shifting to cast a languid gaze behind him, the fox found the slitted pupils of a snake observing him. A forked tongue waved at him before retreating into its den. The reptile slithered past, descending into the water and skimming across to the other side, having apparently gotten no sense of danger from the demon before it. The soothing green of its skin was paled by shedding in various spots, signaling that the creature was growing out of its old skin and slipping into new. Such an able creature, this snake. Capable of action on land or sea, able to abandon a previous suit to account for growth, intuitive enough to know when a significantly dangerous creature had no intention of attacking it. He admired snakes for that.

The fox's particular fondness for snakes would have never been brought to his attention of not for the insistence from rumor that he was akin to them. This was for very different reasons than those that made him respect them. Tales spreading through the demon realm like wildfire cast him in the role of a villain, vile and sly without limitation, ruthless and cunning in his very nature. Snakes were given this visage without consideration for whatever might not be the entire truth, and so was he. It was very true that he could be these things, had these characteristics when he felt the necessity, but there were two sides to every coin and the fox was not entirely heartless. In fact, he had cared for Kuronue very much, perhaps more than he should have.

It was for this very reason, his ability to care beyond what the misconception allowed, that he was now aptly mirroring the rumors. Scarred as his heart currently was, he felt entirely beyond the scope and ability of his heart's normal capacity to care. He felt as utterly cold and stoic as he was said to be. And these feeling—or rather lack thereof—gave him a horrible sense of inadequacy. Under normal circumstances, being alone wouldn't have bothered him. The thought of being abandoned wouldn't have fazed him at all. Perhaps this was what his reputation had been born from. However, sitting by the bank of a cold stream and staring at the ripples in the water, the fox couldn't help but feel that his life was similar to this water. Cold and unfeeling, flowing past without a concern for how he might want things to happen, unable to change the fabric of its own existence without a significant blockage obstructing its path. And, until something dramatic happened that required a shift in how he managed things, the fox felt he would be trapped by his own damaged emotional core.

As with every moment that permitted it to wander, the fox's mind drifted to the unfortunate circumstances of a few short months before. A guarded palace, sentries everywhere, a challenging heist, the duet that was their art and profession, and everything had been successful, nearly perfect, until the escape. The plants that he coddled and adored, those that served under his energy and whim, had betrayed the fox and stolen away the companion he'd treasured more than any trinket that might be obtained. And even as his body was pierced by bamboo spears and blood cascaded to the ground in a violent torrent, the only thing that Kuronue had thought to say at his moment of dying was for the fox to escape. As always, the only thing the fox could think of as a response to the memory was that he should have stayed and fought for the life of his best friend. Regardless of the outcome, win or lose, at least they would have been together in the end. Now, an existence separated them, a distance longer than a universe and more fathomless than an eternity.

Blinking golden eyes that appeared bored so they wouldn't appear destitute or doleful, the fox felt his ears twitch in response to a sudden sound behind him. Too large to be a reptile or rodent, too small to be a mammal native to these parts, the only explanation was that he'd been followed or found, either option leaving him no choice. Without a respectable excuse for being at the water, the fox could only destroy the witness that had been lingering nearby. The thorns of a rose caught at strands of his hair as it sprouted petals, then cast them aside in favor of a new, more threatening form. The whip thrashed mercilessly through the foliage, severing branches and opening the path to the demon that crouched nearby. His amethyst eyes widened in shock before he was caught around the chest, then the whip tightened and he was drawn toward the stream as the fox flicked the weapon back in his own direction. The whip glided across his torso as the fox pulled at it, raking thorns over his flesh and slicing through it with ease. The rose had returned by the time the demon soared past and crashed into the water, severed just below the ribs and entrails spilling across the rock marked in front of the fox. The intestines of the comatose upper half clung to that rock as if to a lifeline, sending a flood of blood running with the water in its stead, while the lower half proceeded with the current as if it knew the entire body would make its way down at one point or another.

A second splash alerted the fox to a strategic error he'd made, one that had escaped his notice around the other thoughts circling his mind. A torrent of blood has soaked the left side of his body and the ground at his feet, courtesy of the demon he'd just slaughtered. The blood was, of course, another bodily fluid he couldn't allow his followers to glimpse, as there would be no reason for it beyond him having killing someone. And the killing of another in their territory was of importance to everyone in their group, as it brought the possibility of invasion or of treachery from within. Either way, if the fox returned to camp saturated with blood, he would have to explain from where it had come, and therein would have to explain his position near the stream. A leader with a more trustworthy reputation would have no need to clarify actions or circumstances, but the fox had the misfortune of being suspect of a merciless nature. If his followers thought lingering near him would result in their untimely demise, they might decide to leave. It would produce the same result as being abandoned for weakness, which he couldn't allow.

Sighing exasperatedly, the fox waded into the water and nudged the corpse off of the rock its entrails had caught it on, dispatching with the flow of tainted water as well. It floated downstream in an almost contented way, although the dumbfounded look on the demon's face dispelled that illusion. The fox peeled off his clothes slowly, draping them across the rock and rubbing the blood from them one piece at a time. He meticulously inspected each garment, confirmed that they had not become discolored, and proceeded to submerge himself under the water to wash the crimson fluid from his face and hair. The rose he had shrunken back to a bud, where the blood would be trapped within the unopened petals and at no risk of staining his silver locks.

Lifting from the chill stream with a sigh of breath, the fox gave his disconsolate gaze to the flow of the water, observing the last threads of crimson disappear with the current. He checked his body for any remaining blood, approved of what he saw, and lifted his pants from the rock. He would be soaked for a while, but excusing this by saying the heat—and subsequent perspiration—had made his clothes dirty would explain having had to wash them, he wouldn't arouse much suspicion amongst the gaggle of thieves he occupied time with.

Running a hand through his silver locks, discretely checking for blood on his hand when he brought it back to his side, the fox asked, "What it is you expect you're doing out here?" The silhouette just past the bank was—intentionally or not—just beyond the range of his whip, otherwise the fool would be dead already, but perhaps a question and the acknowledgment that came with it would draw him out.

"I simply took notice of your absence," came the reply from the same distance away. The voice was disturbingly familiar. Of all the people that could have come looking for him, it was the rebellious one: Yomi, if the fox recalled correctly. And he had proved himself clever enough to know to stay at a distance. Perhaps he would die regardless, when the fox exited the water, but the fox couldn't allow himself to evince this thought in his actions. He would have to act as if Yomi's appearance didn't faze him. Unhurriedly, the fox pulled his pants on, then disengaged his robe from the sash. "Haruo agreed with me that it was odd, so we decided to search for you."

This revelation sent a streak of terror through the fox. He wasn't certain who Haruo was, but if this was the other demon that had sought him out, that Yomi knew he had been looking for the fox was clear vindication for suspicion. Yomi would have to die.

However, if the demon he'd slain was in fact not Haruo, then Yomi's death would become suspicious, for the very same reason. He gave a frustrated glare to the water, trapped in a stalemate and unable to move without further information. But asking outright for a description of Haruo would be stepping right into Yomi's palm, as would many other questions, since the demon had proven himself to have wits enough to deduce the fox's intentions. He was thinking a little more adroitly after his humiliation the previous evening. It was clear to the fox that he would be a dangerous opponent if left alone.

"Have you been searching long?" he asked nonchalantly, knowing that it was a risky question. Then, it occurred to him to add a consequence. It might result in a lie as an answer, but it wouldn't matter as long as Yomi got the sense that the fox thought he was sneaking around without justification. If the fox was so incensed by suspicious actions, perhaps Yomi would think he wouldn't commit them himself. He had, after all, encouraged trust just a few short hours before. His eyes took on a fierce glaze as he shifted to glimpse at the other. "Or have you been up and about before proper hours and merely saw fit to check that I was still in my tent? And, for that matter, what were you doing checking my tent in the first place?"

There was a pause before the response, likely Yomi considering his words. "I had awoken to the sound of someone passing through the trees beside my tent. The first thing I did was check if you were around, to see if you were expecting visitors. You were missing, so I roused the demon in the tent beside yours. He hadn't noticed your absence in his slumber. I heard movements in this direction and came through, and I had only just arrived as you emerged from the water." That seemed convenient enough. The fox didn't believe a word of it.

"And where is Haruo?" Continuing with the interrogation, this question didn't seem so suspicious anymore.

"He went in the other direction."

The fox tied his sash and stepped from the water, kicking water off shoes he hadn't bothered to remove while in the stream. He waved a hand at the brush and it shifted out of his path, scraping across Yomi's shins in the movement. He jumped slightly, surprised by the phenomenon, then snapped his head up to keep his eyes on the fox. "Excuse me if I don't believe you," he said, as if offhandedly, his gaze cool as he pinned his subordinate with his eyes. "As you did attempt to lie to me just last night, the idea of this coincidence is a little far-fetched." He walked past Yomi, his stride confident and rhythmic.

"No more far-fetched than the idea that you'd help any of us amount to what you are," Yomi countered, his frustration overcoming self-restraint. "As you said just last night, we've done nothing to warrant praise or celebration. We've been studying under you for months now, yet you've destroyed the belief that we've improved with a single declaration. What reason have we to stay if you're not teaching us anything?"

That comment stopped the fox in his tracks, but not for the reason Yomi thought it had. He grinned to think that he'd given the fox something to consider, a revelation he hadn't come to previous, and he felt a little pride at having accused the fox of negligence. The fox wasn't perfect, and he wasn't as powerful as the rumors insisted. He could be overcome if his followers simply realized that he was leading them on, and he apparently knew this. Now, Yomi could make demands, gain his reputation, bring the fox down to his level and—

"I have not once said that there has been no improvement within the group. You assumed that," came the soft response. "In fact, there has been much improvement in theft, as it stands. But the lack of improvement rests with thought and foresight. You have to consider the future not just until you're within the walls, but until you've escaped as well. We are running drills to develop a sense of time, to build within you all an instinct to know when to leave. It is unwise to remain for more than a short while, otherwise someone will gather others together, arm them, and we lose our bounty." He shifted to send Yomi a glance too difficult to interpret in the short time it was on him. "That you of all people don't realize this much is a sign that, perhaps, I am failing." Yomi's face lost all feeling at that comment. It became blank, offering nothing for the fox to read except confusion and surprise. Did this mean he thought Yomi was intelligent? Or was he stroking his ego to make him more malleable? "I shall have to remedy this when the others awaken, then. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." He continued to the camp, leaving Yomi standing in the path he had opened.

After the fox had gone, Yomi realized that his advantage had been turned around on him and he swore to himself, his fists clenched tightly enough to leave crescents from his fingernails in his palms. "Damn it," he hissed, coming to the conclusion that the fox sincerely thought he was clever, but knew that he was still no match for the fox. Every plan that Yomi might concoct would have a flaw, and the fox would invariably find that flaw and unravel the plan right within his hands. Theft was the fox's art and his profession, but mind games and trickery were his forte. There was no way for Yomi to beat him at his own game.

So, Yomi would have to go about this differently. The question was: How?

* * *

Now, I disappear into my book-laden cave for another five months. I need to remind my Chiisai Koe to kick me in the ass so I hurry up with AntiLiberation, 'cause obviously this fic isn't getting much attention. Oh well.

7:00 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Sunday, 06 July 2008.

Ciao,  
Ai.


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